Flying to Die
by scousemuz1k
Summary: The team must talk down a suicidal Naval Aviator, and bring down her criminal husband. Team fic, Tony centric but not too much so, very small Tony/Paula ship.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: In the period late season 3, while Ziva was still quite new to the team, before Jeanne, when Paula was back on land, and during the on-off relationship with Tony.**

Flying to Die

by scousemuz1k

Gibbs' phone was ringing, and Gibbs was nowhere to be seen. As Tony gave up waiting and headed to answer it, it stopped, and his own desk phone rang instead. He did a neat body-swerve, slid back into his chair and picked it up. He wrote urgently for a few minutes, with only a few affirmative grunts, and gradually both Tim and Ziva began to listen in. As he put the phone down, they both raised eyebrows.

"Lieutenant Commander Isabella Starling," he told them, and Tim began to type immediately. "Friendly neighbour saw her leaving home, wearing -" air quotes - "'usual flying gear', in tears. She left the front door ajar, neighbour thought things didn't seem right, called the police. They found what they call a rather garbled note, which seemed to suggest the Lieutenant Commander may be suicidal. Talk of a 'devil plane'. LEOs called us."

By the time he'd finished speaking, Tim had pulled up the Commander's information, and Gibbs had returned, coffee in hand, to join them silently at the plasma screen.

Isabella Moreno Starling was currently an instructor of Student Naval Aviators at NAS Whiting Field in Florida, and had only fifteen weeks of service left before returning to civilian life after a distinguished career. She was home on administrative leave for a week. Her husband, Ken Starling, had also been a Naval Aviator, but had retired four years ago, and was now a flying instructor at a very up-market Flying Club in the DC area.

Both spouses owned light aircraft, for recreational flying, and McGee had the location of the rather less upmarket and more serious airfield where their machines were hangared. "McGee, with me. Let Abby know, tell her to start pulling background. DiNozzo –"

"Go to the house, talk to the neighbour, see what sort of a mess the locals have made. On it, Boss."

"Take Ziva. Join us at the airfield soon as you can."

* * *

The friendly neighbour had waited, and was standing outside talking to a young police officer. The neighbour herself was a pleasant, intelligent black woman of about fifty, who still looked strained and anxious. Tony introduced himself and Ziva.

"Thanks for waiting, Miz - ?"

"Sophie Howard. And this is Dan Robinson… he's kind of our local cop."

"Sure am. I patrol this neighbourhood often, know most people."

"That's good. So, what can you tell us?

The young officer deferred politely to Mrs. Howard. "My kitchen faces towards the street, it's lovely for a nosy thing like me. I count Isabella as a friend, even though I don't see her so often. I was looking forward to having her around a bit more when she retires – she leads such an interesting life, I'm sure she'd have tales to tell… Yes, well, I was going to invite her over for coffee later on, she hasn't really got anyone else to talk to… so I was keeping an eye out for her, and I saw her going out to her car. I was going to run out, but I saw she was wearing her flying clothes… she has an all in one suit she wears with a high neck sweater underneath… so I didn't go out."

She paused, and pointed across the street. "That's my kitchen window. You can see, if someone drives off Izzy's parking space, for a moment they're heading straight towards me. I could see plainly; her face was very sad, and she was crying. She drove off erratically, and faster than she should have done down these roads. I wondered what to do, and decided to keep an eye out again for when she came home, to see how she was."

She turned back towards the Starling residence, and pointed again. "Well, then I noticed she'd left her front door ajar, and that was odd. It's a nice house… they've got some very nice things - well this is a good neighbourhood, but even so… I went across to see if I should close it… I mean, what if she hadn't taken her key… I went in, and absolutely the first thing I saw was the notebook."

"The notebook, Mrs. Howard?" The neighbour's tendency to fill in all the details would have tested the agents' patience a little, but she tended to speak quickly, and Tony didn't have any wish to chivvy someone as well meaning as she was.

"Yes. Blue… It looked as if it had fallen from off the telephone table; it has a hard back, and it was standing spine upwards, half open in the middle of the woodblock." She steepled her hands to demonstrate. "I didn't think… I picked it up, and I looked to see what it was. Most of it was about flying… dates, and times, and words like altitude… but the last page frightened me. I put it down and I didn't even use Izzy's phone. I ran back to my house to call the police, and before long, Dan arrived."

The patrolman's story was briefer. "We went back in together… I used a handkerchief to pick up the book, and when I'd read what Sophie showed me, I called my boss, and said he should call you."

Tony nodded thoughtfully. "Does anyone know where Mr. Starling might be?"

"His car isn't here, and he's normally at work at this time of day."

"You didn't see him leave, Mrs. Howard?"

"No…" The good neighbour seemed to hold herself more stiffly at the mention of the husband. Tony thought he might come back to that later. He glanced at Ziva and could see that the Mossad officer had noticed too. Good; she was new to the business of investigating, but her instincts were good.

"Thank you, Ma'am, you've been a great help. Officer Robinson, would you take Mrs. Howard home, and maybe make her a cup of tea? We'll keep you posted."

"Sure will," the cop said, reading between the lines. "OK to update my superiors?"

"Yeah, fine. Like you to stick around if you can?"

The obliging young cop said his favourite word. "Sure…"

As the two agents entered the house, they saw the ring-bound notebook back on the telephone table, but they methodically cleared the one storey house before going back to see the contents for themselves. They snapped on latex gloves, and Ziva picked it up. The majority of the contents were as Mrs. Howard had described, as well as addition sums that could have been fuel loads, but the last page was different. The handwriting was different, and the page was blotched by still damp water marks. "Tears?" Ziva wondered.

As the agents read, they became more and more certain that she was right.

_It was paid for with pain, _Isabella had written. _You bought it with suffering to cause more suffering the plane has the devils mark it does no good no good comes from it you want me to be marked by the devil you want me to join the hell and make the hell for others I found you again but you dont want us to be complete you want me to make hell and spread hell and now I am in hell with no escape I found where it hides I will not make hell for other people I will not let the devils mark spread and I wont live with the devils mark I will die I will fly to die_

"This lady is a highly educated Naval Officer," Ziva said. "Yet there is not a period or a comma… or indeed a defined sentence. Sometimes there are contractions and sometimes not. She was simply writing as she thought; clearly her frame of mind when she wrote this was very disturbed."

The SFA nodded slowly. "She talking about her husband, d'you think?"

"It seems so. You saw what the neighbour thought of him?"

"I did." 

"Why did you not ask further?"

"She seemed a decent woman who wouldn't bad-mouth someone for nothing. And I wanted to know more first…"

"Ah. But if we were to ask, it would not be…bad-mouth, then?"

Tony grinned. "See… you're thinking like an investigator. D'you want to go ask?"

"Without you?" Ziva was surprised.

"Sure." The grin grew wider. "Go on, investigate! I'd like to snoop here a bit more."

Ziva thought again. "I will see if we can stay in the kitchen, so if Mr Starling returns I can warn you."

"Now you're cookin'."

Ziva looked puzzled; she would never understand American parlance, and certainly not DiNozzo's. Bad mouth was toothache, or maybe a punch on the jaw… and what was she supposed to be cooking? She went anyway.

"I didn't want to say anything," Sophie Howard confided, confirming Tony's earlier suspicions. "I haven't really liked Ken much since he moved here. He bought the house two years before he came out of the Navy, four years ago, but of course he wasn't here much until he retired. He renovated the house after he bought it." 

"Really?" Ziva glanced out of the window. "These houses are not old."

"You're right, dear. But he had contractors in, I remember."

"Why did you not like him?"

"Well, he was stand-offish to the point of being abrupt, but some people are reserved, I know – but it was when he married Isabella, three years ago that… well, she was such a happy, bubbly girl, but she isn't these days… I don't think he's physical with her… I've never seen evidence of that, but he seems to suck all the fun out of her. You'd think when she comes home on leave that he'd be glad to see her…"

Ziva waited, but when she saw that although Mrs. Howard had more to say she was hesitating, she said gently, "And…?"

The black lady cast an anxious look sideways at the police officer, and realisation crossed the young man's face.

"Sophie, we know about Sam. It's done, it's no problem." Sophie looked gratefully at him, and her eyes said 'you tell', so he went on. "Sam's Sophie's youngest. He got a bit of a hero worship on an older lad at school. This kid wanted to buy stuff, but his father had taken his car off him. So he got Sam to take him to his fixer. They ran into a sting, and got arrested. Sam hadn't actually done anything wrong, so we scared the shit out of him, and brought him home. He's away at college now, and doing fine. Point is, he said that he saw Ken Starling cruising down, but as soon as he saw the sting going on, he drove off. No cameras in the area, that's why the pushers use it… we couldn't check on it."

"But Isabella spoke of spreading hell. Thank you both, very much. I will return to my partner, and tell him what you have said."

* * *

Tony stood in the Starlings' kitchen, smelling biscuits and seeing the evidence of baking. Why would a woman bake cookies and then want to die? He noiced a floury handprint on the door that led to the garage, and wandered over. There were photographs on the corkboard by the door. Some of them were similar to others he'd seen in the hallway, pictures of the couple, alone, or together, standing beside aircraft. There were military planes, trainers, both civilian and naval, and two that seemed to recur a lot, which he assumed were their own machines.

He had to peer a little, as the light wasn't good in that part of the room; the recess where the garage door was, and where the corkboard hung, was about three feet deep. There didn't seem to be any need for it; at first Tony thought there might be a shower room in the garage, but it would have to be tiny, and all the water supplies were at the other end of the kitchen

So was the oven, and the SFA began to wonder even more. Why did Isabella bake cookies, come down to this end of the kitchen, and become suicidal? He found the door was unlocked, and went out into the garage. There was shelving along that wall, the top rank very high, and no sign of a door, so he stepped out into the garden. No door into a garden shed… yep, boys own comic, secret room, no doubt about it. _I found where it hides…_ He went back into the garage, and simply stood looking.

There was something behind those rows of shelves… and he was going to find out what. How would his childhood comic book heroes have gone about it? It wasn't long before his eyes fell on the set of kitchen steps which lay on their side nearby. Buttercup yellow, with bright pink-flowered PVC padded steps. They didn't belong out here. He recalled that the Lieutenant Commander was five foot six, and visualised her climbing up, reaching up… On the edge of the highest shelf, was a patch of flour. Tony pulled the steps over, and was just looking down at himself to try and estimate where five foot six was on him, when, bang on cue, he heard Ziva calling.

He called back "I'm in the garage", and waited for her to appear.

"Tony, what are you doing?"

"I'm looking for a secret room. But _you're _going to find it, _Zeevah_!"

He stood back for a moment, and silently invited her to make the connections.

She looked at the steps, and up at the floury mark. Tony took a photo of it with his cell phone held high. "The Commander's five foot six. You're five seven, right? You're her. You don't know the room's there, but you suspect."

Ziva nodded. "I think, however he opens it, it must be where I would not notice…"

"He? The husband, right? Did the neighbour say anything about drugs?"

"Oh, yes," Ziva said, climbing up on the steps. "Nothing provable, but a possibility. Now… I hold the shelf because I have to reach out… " She swung her arm in a wide arc, but nothing seemed unusual, so she turned the other way, to where an electrical junction box sat high on the wall. It was a fairly standard piece of equipment, for providing a garden's electricity supply, but Ziva stiffened suddenly. "There is a switch here that cannot be seen from ground level."

She pushed it enthusiastically as Tony warned, "Wait!" A moment later he had to catch her as the wall swung open and nudged her off the steps. He stood with his arms around her, and looked down at her with a teasing grin. "I had a buddy at college who used to press buttons to see what they'd do," he said cheerfully. "He got arrested for blacking out half of Cleveland. Now in _your_ country, you might have started something really big!"

Ziva glowered at him, more because it was expected of her than anything else, but said nothing; he let her go gently and they looked into the secret room. It was maybe seven feet high, four feet wide, and two and a half feet deep, with one shelf, and it was empty. Going by the exterior dimensions that they already knew, and the thickness of the door, it was intended to be unbreachable. The door was beautifully balanced, despite its thickness, and moved with ease. They noticed another floury handprint, but fainter, where Isabella must have pushed it closed again. Tidy nature? Couldn't bear to look at it? Tony sighed. They had to save the poor woman, or they'd never be able to ask her. They had to save her, period.

Ziva said quietly, "Mr. Starling has some explaining to do. Apparently he never gets home before five-thirty, but I have asked Officer Robinson to alert us if he does."

"Good girl," Tony said, his eyes still on the empty room. "I have no idea what triggered the Commander to hunt for this… but we need to know for certain what was in it. D'you want to keep Gibbs up to date?" Ziva nodded thoughtfully, and took out her phone; Tony was already keying in on his.

While they waited, they fetched a camera from the car and photographed everything, but didn't treat it as a crime scene. Not yet, anyway. They heard a vehicle arriving, and went back to the front door, where a DEA canine unit had come to a halt. Out of it jumped a very attractive Springer Spaniel, and a not so very attractive man of about thirty, with sandy hair, pale blue eyes and maybe fifteen pounds too much weight.

"Whoah," he said without preamble, not even trying to disguise how he was eyeing up Ziva. "NCIS is sure prettier than it used to be!"

**AN: I promised myself a month off…**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: For those who were sorry the DEA Agent wasn't the rather tasty Kent Fuller from season 1, (played by the rather tasty William R. Moses,) he wasn't a sleazebag, and anyway, he got promoted. Hope this chapter will redress the balance a bit.**

**The graffiti mentioned is on the radio shack of a small airfield close to where I live. It was while being given a quick aerial tour round the neighbourhood by a friendly pilot that I realised my garage roof needed painting.**

Flying to Die

Chapter 2

Tony said lazily, "_I'm_ NCIS. I know I'm pretty, but you're not my type."

The newcomer looked at him warily. Comprehending sarcasm didn't seem to be his strong point. Tony went on, "That's Officer David of Mossad. It's really up to you whether you risk tangling with her or not."

Ziva had give no sign that she even heard, and was already talking to the happy, eager little dog, whose collar proclaimed that her name was Blossom. A moment later the Spaniel gave an excited yip and disappeared through the front door. Ziva, and then the two men, hurried after her as she rushed eagerly round the house, her handler calling for her to come back.

"Let her be," Tony said, remembering the other DEA sniffer he'd seen at work, the big, loopy German Shepherd that shared his name and a few character traits… "She looks to me like she's already doing her job."

Blossom paused in the kitchen, barking and putting her paws up on one of the cupboard doors, and pointing upwards with her nose, although she wasn't tall enough to reach the worktop. Suddenly remembering that he needed to be paying attention to his partner instead of leering at Ziva when she wasn't looking, Agent Pearson said "Good girl", and patted her, and the little dog ran off again, out into the garage. She circled it once, yipping softly and showing interest in various spots, then gave a triumphant, full throated wuff, and sat down in front of the secret room, paws and nose both pointing plainly to what she could smell.

Pearson gave her a treat from his pocket, and said proudly, "She's never wrong." Tony's estimation of him went up a couple of millimetres – a guy who loved his dog couldn't be all sleazebag. But love her or not, he'd forgotten about her existence a couple of seconds ago simply because a good looking woman was around.

He kept his voice level. "Anywhere else you think she should look?"

"Could try the garden," Pearson said, pulling his eyes away from Ziva, who'd put a handkerchief over her nose and mouth and stepped into the room. Tony positioned the steps so that the secret door could not close accidentally, and opened the back door, thinking, _'you should be telling me, not me having to ask.'_

Blossom efficiently searched the garden, but came up empty, so Pearson called her back. Ziva came out of the cupboard and patted her again. "The book was in there, Tony, I could see where it had lain. There is a thin layer of what may or may not be simply dust. But there are four marks on the floor that you might want to see, and another mark on the shelf." She gave Tony the handkerchief, and he glanced in, while Agent Pearson sidled closer to her.

"Hi," he said with a winning smile. "So, what's a Mossad chick doing over here?"

Ziva looked at him blankly. "Working," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Before Agent Pearson could contemplate the dull thud as his chat-up line hit the ground, and think of another one, Tony came back out of the store, and closed it firmly. He too bent down and fussed Blossom.

"It's a good job this little girl had the sense not to go in there," he said. "I'm pretty certain it's _not _just dust."

"They're trained not to," Pearson said. "They're taught to just show. Unless we tell them it's OK."

Tony nodded. _'Just as well'_, he thought, _I don't think you're sharp enough at your job to have prevented her.'_ "This is certainly a crime scene now. Back to the kitchen."

They looked at the worktop where the little sniffer dog had indicated; amidst the remains of the baking was a place in the spilt flour where the book had possibly been put down. Tony was about to tease, to get Ziva investigating again, when he remembered the other person in the room, and stopped himself. No way would he have fun at his partner's expense in front of the DEA, particularly this one.

"So," he said thoughtfully, "the marks – do they tell a story?"

Ziva said tentatively, "If he is flying drugs in from somewhere else, and simply storing them here, they would not be unpacked. There would not be the fine layer. The marks on the floor could be a table, the mark on the shelf could be scales."

"We can't assume, we'll have to get a team in and get the dust analysed, but I reckon you're right," Tony agreed. "So while his wife's not around, at least, he – or someone – is cutting the stuff in there. Now his wife's back, I'm thinking it's being done elsewhere, so the equipment's gone. But the book stayed because it's his own; his record of what he's flown in, the fuel he's used…" He thought back to times when he'd worked alongside drug squads in his days as a homicide cop. "Some of those figures he wrote could have been ratios of substances for cutting." He sighed, and held up a finger. "Back to the car… I think this is getting worse."

He closed the front door, and opened the trunk of the NCIS saloon. When he lifted the book out, and they looked closely at it through the plastic of the evidence bag, they could see, although it had been wiped, that there were traces of flour on it.

"Don't like this at all," Tony said worriedly. "Try this for a scenario… Something makes Isabella look for the secret room. She finds it, goes in, no mask, finds the book. With something on it."

"Brings it into the kitchen, handles it," Ziva said, realising where Tony's thinking was leading. "So she inhales it, or gets it on her fingers; one way or another, she ingests whatever it was."

"She's no experience of drugs, therefore no tolerance. She gradually goes onto a… let's say cocaine… high, and doesn't know it. Because she's unhappy in the first place, it's a really bad sort of high… I wonder how the heck she got to the airfield, let alone took off."

"Let us hope that she did not," Ziva said. "Take off yet, I mean. Gibbs had not established that when I called. I will updata him."

Tony would have corrected her, but in front of that grinning idiot, not a chance. "Tell him there's a DEA canine unit on its way." He turned to Pearson. "We're still going to need you," he said. "I want you to set off right now, and go to Calderstones airfield. Introduce yourself to Special Agent Gibbs." He glanced over at Sophie Howard's window, and jerked his head slightly, knowing that Officer Robinson would be watching.

Pearson wasn't happy. "My Boss won't like that."

"Course he will. There's a big drugs bust in the offing. Ah, stop pulling that face, and give me his number. What's his name?"

"Kent Fuller." Pearson wondered why the NCIS agent's eyebrows shot up to his hairline, and his worried face suddenly cracked into a smile.

"_Really?"_

He tapped in the number. "Hey, Kent… Tony DiNozzo. Remember me?"

"As if I'd ever forget you." Fuller leaned back in his chair with a grin on his face, and looked down at the elderly mutt dozing by his desk. "Tony says hello."

"Hey… is he still working?"

"Nah… he's retired. He's right here though. Sleeps a lot. What's Pearson done?"

"How did – aw, forget I asked. You _would _know."

"Well, yeah. I'm the boss these days. Kinda good – don't have to put up with cheek from cocky NCIS agents… and Pearson's the only one I sent out to do that today. His _dog_'s a good'n. What's up?"

Tony chuckled. "Can we borrow them a bit longer? Got another site to search, and that little dog's already earned her corn."

"Sure. Keep 'em as long as you like. Let me know if it concerns my agency, right?"

"Oh, it will. Hey, Calderstones airfield if you're not tied to a desk these days."

Fuller looked at the phone for a few moments, then stood up and headed for the door. "Hey," he called over his shoulder, "Granpa, you coming?" The big German Shepherd gave him a reproachful look, creaked to his feet and followed the boss out to his car.

"Chief Fuller says we can keep you. Now get to the airfield."

"Hey, I don't know where it is. Maybe one of you should come with me?" He still hadn't given up, and smiled invitingly at Ziva.

"It is near Georgetown, and you have SatNav in your vehicle. Get gone, we will pass you as it is," Ziva said sweetly. Pearson gave up and went. "Well," she said, "At least the dog is cute."

By now Dan Robinson had joined them. "We think the Commander's in trouble, and we think it's her husband's fault," Tony told him.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Let your chief know, and get some back up. I'm gonna try and locate Mr. Starling, get him to come to the airfield, but if he comes here first, don't alert him, OK? This is a crime scene, but don't make it look like one. If he comes, tell him you've been waiting to take him to the airfield, bring him, and don't take no for an answer. Don't let him go in the house; and see that it's guarded until we update you. OK?"

"No problem. You just get Miz Starling out of trouble."

Tony thanked him, and moments later they were on their way. Five minutes later they passed the DEA canine unit, as Ziva had predicted.

* * *

"No, we don't have a control tower," the airfield manager was saying to Gibbs as Tim was talking to Ziva. (When Gibbs had declined to take her last call, she'd assumed, correctly, that he was busy, and called Tim instead.) "Our radio shack is up there," she went on, and led him over to a brick building near to the edge of the strip, which housed maintenance vehicles. The second storey had windows all round, and Gibbs thought that as control towers go, he'd seen worse. He smiled to himself briefly as he noticed some clown's crude graffiti on the wall beside the steps, - '_Who needs a control tower? This is a big enough erection_.'

The manager, a good looking, voluptuous, if slightly hard nosed ash-blonde woman who'd introduced herself as Margaret Graaf, led them up the steps, and as soon as they were in the shack, she pointed to the radar screen. "The minute I got the call," she said, "I checked. She was still in our range at the time, but she went off shortly afterwards. I contacted Annapolis, which was the direction she was heading in, and they're feeding me this. That's her. Papa India 95. We know she's in the air."

"Heading for Chesapeake Bay," Gibbs said, looking at the green line of coast, and the flashing call sign heading towards it.

"Annapolis have warned everyone out of the area," Margaret said. "I've grounded traffic here. I've tried talking to her, but she's not responding. I… I don't really know what to say." The hard nosed manager looked distressed and helpless. "Believe me, if I'd been here when she arrived, I'd have stopped her from taking off."

Gibbs nodded his understanding, but he wasn't good at consoling words. "Can she turn her locator off?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. But a good pilot won't, for the sake of other traffic… and Isabella's a good pilot. So… as long as she's …still in the air, we'll know."

Tim hurried up the steps. "Tony's news isn't good, Boss. He thinks she may have ingested something nasty without knowing it. That's why the stuff in the book was incoherent. There may be drugs in her system, distorting her thinking. He's sent the canine unit he called in over here, and he's on his way with Ziva. He's sewn things up that end. Ziva said they were trying to get the husband here, and they'd fixed it so he didn't know he was a suspect."

As he brought the Boss up to date, he began to frown slightly.

"Ya having problems with your brain, McGee? Spit it out."

"Er… let me call Abby first, Boss."

Gibbs shrugged, and Tim turned away. "How long before she reaches the coast?"

Margaret looked at the small, flashing transponder signal. "About half an hour. It's a hell of a fast little aircraft." She'd blatantly listened in as Tim had passed on everything from Tony, and she sighed. "I would _never _have put the Commander down as the suicidal type. She's a Catholic, for starters. I should know, we attend the same church. Her parents came from Puerto Rico… old fashioned believers, she told me. The devil, hell-fire… she was talking about a devil plane, right?"

Gibbs could only nod. "If her husband comes here, I really need you not to alert him, OK? My Senior Field Agent seems to think we shouldn't, and I'll go along with that until he can explain why. D'you know if he carries a gun?"

The manager's eyes widened. "A_ gun_? Hell, I've no idea." She paused, and Gibbs waited patiently, although he didn't feel patient. "Look, even if he's a drug dealer, who carries a gun, and flies a devil plane that's tainted with blood… Isabella's still too level a woman to kill herself."

There was a squeal of tyres, and Tony pulled up alongside the building, just as Tim said, "Had an idea, Boss. Just confirmed it with Abby. Commander Starling was on the Kennedy same time as Paula Cassidy. I just called Paula – she knew her well, liked her, she said; there weren't so many females on the ship, they all tended to hang out together... She's on her way over."

Gibbs pursed his lips and nodded. "Good thinking, McGee. Ya want to tell DiNozzo that or surprise him?"

"Er… surprise him, Boss. Hey, he'll keep his mind on the job."

"He'd better." Gibbs paused. "McGee," he said slowly, "Of the four people on this team, who d'ya think's best suited to talk to the Commander until Cassidy gets here?"

Tim's blood ran cold. "Well… er… I'd say DiNozzo or me would be better than you or Ziva," he said honestly, since there was precious little point in trying to dissemble. "But I don't think –"

Gibbs was almost gentle. "So don't even try. D'you know how to operate this thing?" He gestured at the radio. Tim nodded, bracing himself, and trying to rid himself of the rabbit in the headlights look. "Tim, I need Tony to do that random snooping thing he does. I think you're calmer than him. And what could he say that you can't?" He allowed himself a smile. "Just sit down there, and talk. If she's receiving, she might appreciate a friendly voice. I'll be back up in a minute."

Tim sat, and pulled the mike towards him with a hand that was suddenly shaking. For a start, the Boss had used his first name. That was scary enough. But the thought that Gibbs was entrusting him with speaking to a desperate woman… well, Gibbs thought he could do it. He leaned forwards. "Papa India niner five, this is Calderstones field… do you copy? Papa India…."

At the foot of the steps, the other three team members and Margaret were conferring. Tony and Ziva explained in more detail what they'd found. The manager said that Ken Starling flew down to Florida or Galveston quite frequently – he explained that they were long distance orientating trips for his newly qualified students. She wasn't going to pass comment if he was moonlighting. She pointed out the hangar where the Starlings kept their two aircraft.

"Great way to smuggle drugs," Tony said. "A different, completely unaware, innocent party with you each time – totally above board. Once we've got the Commander down safely, we need to get her husband's friends, Boss." Gibbs raised his eyebrows with a 'ya think, DiNozzo' expression. But he and Ziva had done well, and he didn't grudge the SFA his enthusiasm for a moment.

"That's why I didn't want him tipped off," Tony went on. "That's why I alerted Kent Fuller. We have the chance. I've got Marchetti's team ready to go over the Starling place as soon as we've got him nailed down; he's in the air right now, his club have told him there's an emergency and to land at once, and contact me. Ah, and here comes the cavalry."

Agent Pearson stepped out of his van; the well trained Blossom looked yearningly at all that open space, but stayed where she was. Pearson couldn't decide who to ogle; the dark Israeli or the statuesque ash-blonde who was currently fussing his dog. Tony smiled internally; he knew exactly why Pearson would have got nowhere with Margaret Graaf, having seen the discreet, casual, but appreciative glance that the manager had cast over Ziva when they met, but the idea of warning him never entered the SFA's head.

"Agent Pearson – I need you to bring Blossom over to have a poke round," he told the DEA man.

"She likes you," Pearson said to the airfield manager. "She's a good judge. Are you going to come with us?" Margaret smiled, and whispered something in a seductive voice, that made him blench.

Tony grinned. "You ladies want to stay here? See if McGee needs any help? Ziva, you could keep updating me?"

Ziva smiled. "You do have some good points, Tony. I believe you are taking one from the team?"

"For the team, Zeevah – for the team, and you're welcome."

**AN: Doing the Topsy thing again I'm afraid; it's just growing… Paula fans, she'll be along soon. Honest.**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: I got the details of grounding traffic and swapping radar feeds from the guys at my local field. I'm assuming it holds good anywhere!**

Flying to Die

Chapter 3

Pearson was still looking over his shoulder at Ziva, until she, together with Gibbs and Margaret Graaf, disappeared round the corner of the radio shack. DiNozzo and Blossom had already covered half of the fifty or so yards towards the hangar they'd had pointed out to them. Tony reached the entrance, which had a huge, hydraulically operated roller door. He stepped into the more shadowed area, and stood looking round. He said softly, "Wait, Girl," to Blossom, who sat on her haunches and looked up at him.

There was space for eight light aircraft, four on each side, with taxiing room between them. The second aircraft in the right hand rank was missing. Tony stood frowning. There was something wrong with the picture he was seeing, but he couldn't grasp what it was. One of those niggles in the back of the mind that drive you crazy, but the harder you chase, the less you can catch them.

While he was still puzzling about it, Pearson came up alongside him. "So…," he said, "The Israeli hottie, what's the deal with her, then?"

"She's my partner," Tony told him uninterestedly.

"Yeah… but partner as in _partner_… you know?"

"Only one thing you need to know about Ziva," Tony said more cheerfully. "You'd never find out how many knives she carries… by the time you were close enough to count, she'd already have stuck one in you. Now, you take the four aircraft on the left rank, and have Blossom see what she can find. Lift her into the cockpits, check any compartments…" he wondered why he was having to say it… had Kent Fuller deliberately sent NCIS the lemon of the bunch in revenge for the hard time he'd been given when he worked with them? Well, like he'd said, the dog was good.

As he began to look carefully over the first aircraft on the right, that niggling feeling returned. It was a Europa, a really neat little UK kit plane; shiny crystal white with navy blue wave decals on the nose and around the air intake; he wondered how one had ended up here. It was the monowheel version, very low to the ground; the version that took a skilled pilot to land safely. He leaned over and opened the cockpit; the inside was spotless. There was nothing at all in there. He looked across at Pearson, and sighed. The man had found a Pirelli calendar in the cockpit of the Cessna he was checking; Blossom sat looking over the cockpit rim wondering what to do next.

Tony gritted his teeth and called Ziva; Tim was trying so hard, she told him. Margaret Graaf thought the radio channel was open, but there was no reply. They urgently needed something, anything, to go on. "Understood," he told her, and disconnected.

Pearson raised his head from the beautiful, beautifully photographed young March woman, and made some comment that Tony didn't even bother to hear. The man wasn't even wearing gloves. He wasn't troubled… his gut was quite certain the answers were on this side of the hangar. "Oh, look," he said idly, "There's your boss arriving." The tall, distinctive figure of Kent Fuller, with his mop of reddish fair hair, climbed out of his car near the radio shack. So did the big dog Tony remembered. Fuller sketched a wave in greeting, but turned to speak to Gibbs who was coming down from the radio shack to meet him. Pearson tried to look as if he'd been working all the time.

Tony thought of that odd phrase, 'sketched a wave'… how do you sketch a wave… he sat bolt upright, and jumped out of the Europa's cockpit. "Blossom," he yelled. "C'm here, girl, I need you…" he realised he needed to lift her down from the wing of the second plane on the left, and when he did, she ran straight over to the empty place on the right. She bustled around for a moment, and sat down with a happy bark. It was just what Tony had expected.

Pearson hurried over, and remembered to reward her. "Right," Tony said, pointing to the Europa, "never mind the ones on the left. Get her to look at that one."

"I thought you'd just checked that one."

"I'm not Blossom. I don't think she'll find anything, but try."

As the clever Spaniel went to work, Tony stood by the front end of the Europa, and now he knew what it was that had bothered him. Waves…He ran his fingertips lightly over the decals on the aircraft's nose; he'd seen then beside Isabella's shoulder in the photographs in her kitchen. This well tended little aircraft was _her_ plane, her pride and joy. What was more, it didn't stand nearly as tall as the Piper Sport he'd seen in the majority of the snaps with Ken Starling. Tony kicked himself for not realising it sooner.

The drug tainted one that had stood in the empty space, was her husbands. Isabella was _flying_ the devil plane. He was about to call Ziva, when another car appeared through the airfield gate and went bucketing across to Gibbs and Fuller as if the owner didn't care much for suspension that worked. A huge grin spread across Tony's face. He'd not been expecting to see _her_ until the weekend, and then only if neither of them pulled a case. The only girl in years who'd ever made him even consider the benefits of monogamy; and she had to be a player.

Paula Cassidy, looking really good in pale blue jeans tucked into long tan boots, and a long, cream knitted jacket, erupted from her SUV, and stood in animated conversation with the two men by the shack. Blossom sat down without a bark, to let them know she'd found nothing, and sure enough, Pearson started up. "Whoa… look at _that _one. Blo-o-onde… Is she NCIS? D'you know her as well?"

"W-what? Yeah, I know her."

"She's hot! What's she like? Does she date much? D'you think she –"

"Ssh," Tony said, hitting speed dial. The blonde pulled her phone out of a jacket pocket as Gibbs pointed over towards the hangar.

"Hey," the Italian's voice greeted her. "There's a guy here that fancies you." Pearson's eyebrows shot up and he drew himself up to his full height.

The voice that emerged from DiNozzo's phone was warm, humorous and sexy.

"Fancies me?"

"Oh, yeah."

"He any good?"

"Oh yeah, really good."

Pearson couldn't believe his luck as the woman walked across the tarmac. Her voice still came from the NCIS guy's phone, and he could see her lips moving. "Kinda busy right now."

"I know. Don't worry about that." She came under the shadow of the hangar wall, clipping her phone shut and hitching her jacket away from her gun in a way that was seriously hot. Pearson stepped forward with a smile and a dependable chat line, and she walked past without seeing him, into the arms of the NCIS guy, who kissed her briefly but very heatedly.

China blue eyes danced at green ones. "Oh, yeah," she said. "Very good." She became instantly businesslike. "She'll cross the coastline in about five minutes. Gotta give us something to work with, DiNozzo."

Tony nodded, took her hand and led her over to the Europa. She noticed the other guy, and wondered why he was glaring, and figured it must be that he was a tad anal and didn't think you should _ever_ kiss on duty. They both leaned in. Tony called over, "Pearson, if you want to take a look, you come round my side." Pearson glowered, called Blossom, and went back to his van.

"This is her plane," Tony said with certainty. He explained what he'd been thinking, and Paula agreed.

"I never knew what she flew, but she talked about it lovingly. She'd be sure to look after something she was that fond of… the screen's a bit smeared… you think that cute little sniffer dog had her nose up against it?"

Tony vaulted in and peered more closely. "Good spot, Cassidy. Hey, can you block out the sun for a moment?"

"I'm not that big, DiNozzo!" She held her jacket out to block the glare from the hangar doorway, Tony leered openly but only momentarily at her bust.

"Roll on the weekend," he muttered, screwing his eyes up to look even more closely at the screen.

"If you live that long… what is it?"

"A name," Tony said wonderingly. "Do you know who Inez is? It looks… tell me I'm being fanciful here… but it looks as if it was drawn by a fingertip, using tears."

Paula swung in beside him, and looked for herself. They exchanged a glance, and a moment later they had both leapt out and were running across the tarmac together. Tony noticed Pearson's van being driven away, and thought sadly that he'd never had a chance to say goodbye to that fantastic little dog.

They raced past Gibbs and Fuller, who turned to follow them, up the steps to the shack, then took a deep breath that seemed shared between them, and entered very quietly, to hear Tim's calm, steady voice keeping up its hopeful monologue. Tony found his note book, and wrote, 'Why is she flying the devil plane? (His, not hers) Poss to destroy it? Who is Inez? + RU OK to keep going?'

Tim read it, mouthed 'Let's see' at him, and said, "Isabella, you're not flying your own aircraft. I think you're flying the devil plane. Why is that?" His long vigil – twenty minutes that seemed like twenty days was rewarded at once by a sharp intake of breath, the first sound that had emerged from the transceiver in all that time, and made them all draw an answering one and turn towards it. "Is it because you want to destroy it? Tell me why you think you need to destroy yourself as well?"

The distressed pilot's breathing was audible now, as Tim took a deep breath and went on. "Isabella," he said with a gentle assurance that totally belied his probie status. "Who is Inez?"

"_What do you know of Inez?"_ The voice that burst suddenly from the transceiver was accusing, and utterly harsh with pain. Tim's eyes widened, and Tony wrote frantically, 'name written in tears in her plane'.

McGee took another steadying breath, and said unhurriedly, "I don't know anything except her name, Isabella. Her name written in your aircraft."

Tony whispered, "On the screen."

Tim nodded. "Written in tears on the screen. Did you sit in your seat and cry for her? Isabella…is…is she dead?"

"_No! She is alive! She was dead to me for so long, and she is alive!"_

Tim looked up briefly at Tony, and mouthed, "Daughter." Tony, of all things, squeezed the younger man's shoulder, as he nodded. Tim turned back to the microphone… clearly they thought he was OK with this.

"Isabella, is Inez your daughter? And you thought she was dead?" His next plea came so straight from his own heart that if he had been in a training situation, and this had been role play, the instructor would have marked him down instantly for involving himself; but he couldn't have stopped the words. "If you've found your daughter alive… Isabella, _why do you want to die?_"

There was a catch of breath, and a sigh. _"I….I don't know what else to do."_ The hard, staccato speech and the accusing tone had gone. _"I thought it would be best… to dump this plane in the bay."_

The transceiver was using two wavebands, so both sides of the conversation could be heard at both ends. Tim was glad, he wondered how he'd have talked to a suicidal woman saying 'over' every time, but it meant they couldn't communicate easily amongst themselves. Kent wrote in his notebook, "If she was on a high, I think she's coming down. This could be good?"

Tim nodded. "We know what it carries, Isabella, and we know that you're not involved in it. We can deal with the plane… "

"_People call me Izzy…"_

"That's a nickname," Tim said cheerfully. "People only give you nicknames if they like you." Tony's eyebrows rose in surprise, and he nodded approval. He thought inconsequentially that he hoped McGee would remember that next time he called him Probie. He sighed inwardly. The frat boy in him still wouldn't ever allow him to let his guard down and just tell his team he _liked_ them. Enough! Concentrate, DiNozzo…

"That means that people like you, Izzy. It means they wouldn't want you to die. I don't know you, but I don't want you to die either." The young agent looked, and felt, wrung out. He'd spoken from the heart and really didn't know if he had much left. "Izzy, we're getting feed from Annapolis radar…"

"_You only have one screen there to put it on! Your own pilots won't be safe if no-one's tracking them!"_ He'd made her angry, but he was glad. She still cared about something.

"Yes, we know, Izzy. Margaret grounded all the traffic here, so we could use our screen to follow you. When they knew that one of their friends was in trouble, everyone agreed it was the right thing to do." He wasn't lying. "But that's how I know you're over the water now… Izzy, we'd really like you to turn round… and tell us about Inez… and let us help you to make things right…" He briefly passed a hand over his eyes.

Tony wrote "See if she'll talk to Paula, you need a break," just as the radio hissed again.

"_I don't know what to do… Tim." _

The agent's eyes widened – he'd spoken his name into the unresponsive ether twenty minutes ago… now she was using it. Maybe he should stay the course… "Izzy, I'll sit here all day with you until I convince you, if you want me to… but do you know a friend of yours is here? Would you like to speak to Paula?"

"_Cas? Cas is there?"_

"I'm here, Izzy. I came as soon as I heard you had a problem. This isn't like you, you know." She sounded quite severe; Tim prayed that it was the right approach. But hey, Cassidy was winging it the same as he'd been. Agent Afloat, right? He eased out of the chair on legs that felt like jelly. Tony and Gibbs grabbed an elbow each until he felt steady.

"_I felt weird, Cass… I still do…"_

"We've been doing some investigating… did you know you'd taken something? Without knowing it?"

"_Taken something. You mean some of Ken's stuff. This is a mess…"_

"I know, Iz… but it's not your mess. You know… I never knew you had a daughter. None of us girls on the Kennedy knew. Were you afraid Inez would blame you? For the mess?"

"_No…it wasn't that… he wouldn't let me speak to her… she's his daughter too…"_

"His daughter? Ken's daughter?"

"_We were in High School together… we broke up, and I never told him I was pregnant… I thought he didn't love me any more. I didn't tell my parents I was pregnant…they'd have said I was going to hell… I didn't tell anyone, because I'd already got the place at Annapolis…Cas, this is my punishment for abandoning my baby…"_

Paula shook her head in wonder, then took the bull by the horns. "You'd never abandon anyone. Izzy, I don't understand any of this. _I_ need the whole story, and _you_ need someone on your side. There's a whole shack full of people here wanting to help, waiting to help…_now turn the goddam plane round and come home!_"

There was a long silence. Paula pressed her hands to her temples, and Tony rubbed her shoulder unobtrusively. She was just taking a deep breath to start again, without the faintest idea of what she was going to say, when Margaret said shakily, "She's turning…"

**AN: I did my best with the flying stuff. If it's rubbish, at least it's researched rubbish. Don't flame me, please!**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Well, another miracle that anything ever got done… I spent the day looking after Aiden, aged three, second youngest grandsprog. Yes, I know what you're all thinking… I can see it in your faces… 'Come on, Scouse, you can't be old enough to have grandchildren, you look so young…' Deprecating cough, modest smile, indeed, oh, how kind. Yeah, not fooling anybody but myself, I know. **

**But that kid is **_**wired**_**. Took him to feed the ducks… he had **_**four**_** very impressive attempts to fall in the pond… looked at stuffed toys in a local shop, elephants, tigers, zebras… he wanted a rat. Apologies, Cheeky, I know your rats are lovely…**

**BTW, Genevra, have a good hol!**

**Hey ho, on with the story….**

Flying to Die

Chapter 4

Everyone looked over at the radar console, where the tough cookie airfield manager sat, white as a sheet, tears running down her cheeks. She pointed. "Ninety… a hu-hundred and t-ten…" she stuttered. "A hundred and eighty… h-holding… she – she's coming back."

Tim took two rapid paces back to Paula, and leaned into the mike. "Izzy… Margaret says you've turned back… tell me it's true…"

"_I'm coming back, Tim… you were right…"_

"You're crying… you don't need to… we'll fix things."

"_It's still a mess, Tim, my little girl… Cas, I left her… and yet she still wants to know me…"_

"Tell you what," Paula said, keeping up the slightly abrasive, reproving tone that had got through to the Naval Officer side of Isabella, "Since you've nothing else to do up there, why don't you tell us what's gone, on while you're coming home?"

The pilot actually laughed slightly. Then,_"It's bad…"_ she said in a small voice.

"You don't have to tell us everything, Izzy," Tim said reassuringly. "Just what you want to." Tony wrote 'good cop, bad cop… oh, yes!' and Tim nodded, with a weary smile.

The disembodied voice began its narrative with a sigh.

"_I told the parish priest I was pregnant. He put me in touch with the nuns at St. Claire's in Annapolis. They were kind…"_

She had told her parents, from whom she'd concealed five months worth of pregnancy simply by wearing loose clothes, and by the fact that they would never have imagined such a thing of their daughter; that she'd been offered work in Annapolis that would help to pay her way when she went to the Naval Academy in the Fall. The nuns, after conscientiously trying to persuade her to tell her parents and keep her daughter, understood her position. She had signed her new born baby away for adoption, and the same day had fled the convent in a mess of guilt and pain.

"_I went to the Academy…I had a good career… I worked hard because the guilt drove me… since I had taken the Navy over my daughter, I had to make it mean something… to be the best I could… I never forgot her, and I never felt good."_

Then, three years ago, she'd met Ken again. In fifteen years in the Navy their paths had never crossed, but he'd retired, and almost at once they'd met at an air rally, and fallen instantly in love again. They married, and Izzy had begun to dream about telling him one day, and finding their daughter. A year or so ago, she'd decided to retire when her next tour was over, and that was when the first strange cracks began to show in the marriage. Ken wasn't thrilled, although he said he was; he had a secretive side that she'd ignored but now felt uneasy about; phone calls he'd go in the garage to take, callers who hung up if she answered. She suspected another woman…

Then last week, the bombshell. She'd received a letter at her place of work at Whiting Field; a lawyer in Philadelphia wrote that Inez de Falla had reached the age of eighteen, and was hoping to make contact with her birth mother, and asking for her thoughts. After a day when she could hardly concentrate for a moment, she'd claimed family emergency, climbed into the Europa and flown home. It was an even bigger bombshell to Ken, and once again, in the end he declared he was thrilled. Once again, Izzy didn't believe him, although this time, well, she could hardly blame him. She returned to work the following morning with growing unease, and arranged administrative leave.

At this point Tony had to stop listening, as he stepped outside onto the top landing to answer his phone. Ken Starling was on his way. Tony simply told him that his wife was in the air in a distressed condition, and to come to the airfield. He rang Dan Robinson to pass on the information. No, Dan said, he'd not been by home first… but a big van with darkened windows had cased the house, going up the street then back down. "My unit was round the corner… so the only thing they saw was no cars and the house closed up." Tony thanked him, and went back in, exactly in time to hear Isabella telling about the van she'd seen in the road in the middle of last night.

_("I said he wouldn't be there…"_

"_He said last night he wouldn't take it to the house while his old lady was around. Why did the damn fool get married when he had such a good thing going? It paid for his nice new plane, didn't it."_

"_And the stuff's still on that 'nice new plane'," a third voice added sarcastically. "I don't care how __**he's **__trying to get round the problem; I can't have $500.000 worth of coke so far out of my control."_

"_So, we going to the airfield to get it ourselves?"_

"_Oh, you've noticed the direction we're taking, then?" This was the sarcastic voice again._

_The driver of the anonymous dark van braked sharply. "That was a DEA vehicle…" The unseen occupants looked back down the road. "You think they've found it?"_

"_Only one way to find out. Call McBride, tell him to meet us there – bring a friend. Or two.")_

"Heard him on the phone," Gibbs said tersely. "Said stuff couldn't come to him, his wife was home. She woke in the middle of the night, felt the house shake as if a door had been slammed. Said she knew all the door sounds in the house, it wasn't right, but it came from the garage. Got out of bed, saw the van, husband talking to the driver. They were loading something. Reckon that's where your table and scales went, DiNozzo. He came back to bed, told her these guys'd got the wrong house, she was scared, didn't argue."

Tony nodded, called Kent and Ziva over, and filled them in about the van.

Kent thought briefly. "We get him to roll on the others, d'you think?" The four of them looked at each other. "We think." He answered his own question with a mean, anticipatory smile.

Isabella was describing finding the door. In the morning Ken had said he really didn't know if contacting Inez was a good idea, and gone to work leaving her feeling frantic. She was pretty certain of what he was up to; and was thinking that if she were to meet her daughter it had better not be here. She phoned the lawyer and explained she had problems but wanted to meet Inez. The lawyer had been helpful, and explained there were many ways of going about things, he specialised in this sort of work, and would act as a go-between. She'd rung off feeling better, and decided to do something she could never do on active duty, but that she enjoyed…

As she began to bake the cookies, Ken rang. He was quite positive that bringing Inez into their lives was a bad idea, and although he couldn't actually forbid her, he wanted nothing to do with it, and she wasn't ever to bring her to the house.

"Oh, _Izzy_…" Paula said, bad cop forgotten.

_(Five miles away, a frightened little dog emerged from the bushes where she'd been hiding. She nervously approached the van that lay halfway down a slope, its hood crumpled against a tree. Whimpering softly, she crept up to the still figure of her handler, face down at the back of the van, where the doors had been forced open. She licked his face hopefully, but he didn't respond. She stood looking round her, and thought for a moment, then chose a direction and set off at a run.)_

"What did you do?" Tim prompted quietly.

"_I cried so much I almost burned the cookies. Then I heard a door bang across the street, and I remembered the sound in the night…"_

From then on Isabella's account of finding the door, and the book, and the effect it had had on her, confirmed what Tony had suspected. He repressed the smug grin that threatened to emerge as he saw Ziva looking at him with surprised approval. "There," he thought, "you never thought DiNozzo had the brains for that." But he kept the mask in place; this wasn't the time for feeling smug. He was still worrying about that van.

Margaret answered the phone; Annapolis was handing over radar control. "Izzy?"

"_Margaret? I'm sorry for all –"_

"Sorry, schmorry, hon. Just get yourself back here safe. We've got you on home radar now… just over ten minutes out. Stay safe."

"_I will. Tim… you know what's on this aircraft, don't you?"_

"Yes, Izzy, we do. I've got a friend here from DEA… he'll deal with it. Honey… you _do_ know this will have consequences for Ken, don't you?"

"_Yes…"_ Isabella choked back a sob. _"If I'd __**known**__ earlier… I'd have begged him to get out… why did he marry me, if he was already involved in this?"_

"I guess… because he really did fall for you all over again, and he had to try to make things right with you… even if he knew deep down it would lead to trouble. Perhaps…people don't want to do the sensible thing when they're in love."

Both Paula and Ziva looked at the young agent with approval, and he almost blushed.

"_It's going to be so hard… I want to be friends with my daughter… and I have to be there for him as well…"_

Bad cop Paula couldn't help a slight snort. "Well, Iz, I just hope he realises what he's put you through… and appreciates your loyalty."

Fuller said suddenly, "Is that him?" and pointed through the window at an approaching car.

"Oh, yeah," Gibbs said, and headed for the door. He looked back at Fuller and DiNozzo. "Ya coming?" The three agents hurried down the steps to meet the worried husband; Gibbs and the DEA chief stood back.

Tony stepped forward. "Mr. Starling? I'm Special Agent DiNozzo. Thanks for coming."

Starling was the absolute picture of a frightened husband. "How's my wife? You said she's in the air, distressed… what do you mean? Can I talk to her? We had a terrible row this morning…"

The two senior agents left the talking to DiNozzo; the unorthodox interrogator had the light of battle in his eyes…

It wasn't as if they needed a confession, Tony thought, but he really wanted to nail this guy for the pain he'd caused; and the more off-kilter they could make him the better if they wanted him to roll over on his partners. Drug dealers were usually pretty scary people, and if Starling had time to think, he'd have time to clam up.

"Yeah, of course you can talk to her… but you need to know, she's pretty upset. What did you quarrel about?"

"Our daughter… poor Izzy… it's a long story…"

"Oh. Cuz she's been talking about a devil plane…"

Starling's eyes jerked towards the hangar, and a puzzled look came over his face. "I thought you said she was in the air," he blurted, and pointed. "That's her aircraft there… she can' be –"

"No," Tony cut in innocently, "She's flying your plane."

"She's got my plane?" Starling's voice was strangled with horror. "She's got –" he shut up abruptly.

"Yeah, we know," Tony said coldly. "She's got something on board you thought she didn't know about. The devil plane – paid for with pain, she said, and she's intending to crash it into Chesapeake bay." He watched the frantic look crawling across the other man's face and leaned in close. "So who is it you really care about, Ken? Your wife, or your friends when they find all those expensive smuggled guns are at the bottom of the bay?"

"It's not guns –" Starling sagged against the nearest car.

"We know that too. Heroin or cocaine? My guess is coke… whatever. You know what trouble you're in? You know what sort of people you've been in bed with? You'll be lucky to get out of this alive… and that's more than can be said for your poor innocent wife."

"I tried to hide it from her… that's why I didn't want her to get involved with Inez…" Tony was going to say, 'to protect your daughter', but Starling went on, "It would have been harder to conceal from two people."

Tony turned away in disgust, his jaw working. Gibbs took over. "You're a fine man, Mr. Starling," he said, reaching for his cuffs. "You're going to tell us all about your friends, because we're the only ones who can protect you now." Starling simply nodded his acquiescence, lacking the will to speak.

"Allow me," Kent Fuller said, producing his own bracelets. "I thought you wanted to talk to your wife, Mr. Starling." He got no answer, and began to read him his rights. Starling was hardly listening; he was looking out across the field at a small speck in the sky that was becoming more distinct as it got closer. Long before the red and grey Piper Sport touched down, it was obvious which plane it was.

"You bastard," he yelled at Tony. "You lied to me!"

The SFA smiled thinly. "No, I didn't. Everything I said was true. I just didn't bother to tell you that people who care convinced her to change her mind."

"But don't you worry about the stuff," Fuller told him. "I'm DEA, and it's mine now."

"I didn't want them to find out… I wanted to keep them out of it," Starling said weakly. "I never knew before that I had a child… I wanted to protect them."

Fuller, father of three teenagers, looked at him without favour. "Funny how you see things when it's close to home," he said baldly. "I'm sure that all the parents of addicted daughters out there would sympathise with you." He shoved him into the back of his vehicle, hands cuffed behind him. "I'll ask your wife if she wants to speak to you," he said, and locked him in, swearing under his breath as he walked away.

Tony-the-dog, who'd taken one look at the radio shack steps when they arrived, politely declined to climb them and spent the entire time since lying dozing in a puddle of sunlight near the bottom, looked up at him curiously as he went by. Kent pointed to the DEA truck. "Guard!" he said. The German Shepherd grinned, scratched himself and went back to sleep.

The Piper had turned off the runway onto the grass and travelled about halfway towards its hangar, before coming to a halt, the engine dying. Isabella didn't move for a while, contemplating the morning with a whirl of emotions too many to define, but the sight of Margaret, Paula and Tim racing down from the shack and across the grass towards her, made her shake herself from her trance and open the cockpit with shaking hands.

She greeted the two women who were her friends with a wan smile, and they supported her as she climbed out of the aircraft on unsteady legs. "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry – " she looked past them at the earnest, fresh faced young man who hesitated to join them, and knew who he was at once. "Tim…" she said, and stumbled across to him. She didn't hesitate, but threw her arms round him in an emotional embrace. "Thank you…" Since she was a good head shorter than him, the words were spoken into his shirt, but he understood the depth of the feelings.

He hugged her back, looking down at the top of her head; beyond her he could see Tony and Ziva watching, grinning all over their faces. The light in Tony's eyes told him he was going to be teased about this for weeks to come, but he saw something else there, and in Gibbs' eyes too, that ensured that he didn't care. They were proud of him.

Gibbs went to the aircraft, Kent Fuller followed him, and they looked into the luggage compartment. Fuller ran a practised eye over the contents. "Half a million, maybe," he said quietly. "I'll call for LEO back-up… somebody'll want this back. Remember that van?"

Gibbs nodded thoughtfully, just as Tony came up alongside them. "Not forgotten it for a moment," he said. "We need to get Husband of the Year to tell us who his friends are."

Margaret came over and asked if they wanted her to taxi the plane back to the hangar. "No," Gibbs said softly. "You know what's on board… leave it isolated, and warn everyone to stay well away from it." She nodded, and they all moved back towards the equipment store, and the steps to the radio shack above. Isabella's step faltered as she saw her husband sitting in the cramped backseat area of the DEA truck; she took a step towards him, but he looked away. Paula put an arm round her to steady her, and Margaret suggested they all go across to the common room, which was between two of the hangars, and where there was coffee, and sit down while they sorted out what to do next.

The murmur of agreement was interrupted by a loud, warning bark from Tony-the-dog, who was looking across towards the gate, his ears pricked. They all turned in that direction, and Tony, but not the dog, swore and dropped to his knees, as a small, black and white blur hurtled towards him, leapt up into his arms, and pushed herself up against him, cowering and shaking.

"Hey, li'l lady," he whispered soothingly, in a way that would have had Ziva laughing any other time, "What's happened to you?"

Blossom's heart was banging, there was road dirt in her coat, and her pads were scratched. Her muzzle and feet were red with blood. Fuller looked at her in mounting alarm. _"Pearson…"_

**AN: I don't think this flows too well; sorry… me stamina's not what it was….**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Two things… I don't know if it's called Av-Gas in the USA, and I couldn't find out. And… I did something bad. And if you flame me, I'll tell you who put me up to it.**

Flying To Die

Chapter 5

The dark van was pulled in at the side of the road, about a mile away from the gates of Calderstones airfield. The driver glanced in the mirror. "Here comes McBride."

"Bout time."

A red Beemer jerked to a halt, scattering clouds of dry dirt and sending pebbles flying. Only the driver got out. The front seat passenger of the van, he of the sarcastic voice, eased himself out, and waited for the other man to approach. He was the Boss, people came to him. "McBride…"

"Pascoe… got three others. We got two semis, and hand guns. And face masks. What's going down?"

"Our $500.000 if we don't move quickly. The Feds know Starling's been carrying drugs. We know he didn't get it off the plane. He went missing from home… his boss said he's gone to the airfield… trouble with the old lady." He didn't bother to reiterate his cohort's sentiments, although he'd known the marriage would ultimately cause trouble. "We got a new place set up … I shoulda moved faster changing things, cuz now the feds are at the airfield. Sniffer dog. They'll have found it."

McBride didn't ask how the boss knew. "Gonna have to shoot our way to the stuff, then," he said indifferently.

"Oh, yeah. Eight of us altogether. Maybe six of them. No plan, no clevers. Out of the cars and start shooting. They can die or not, I don't care," Pascoe went on. "But Starling's got to go. Before he spills his guts about the whole operation."

"What if he already has?"

Pascoe thought for all of two seconds. "You're right. Kill 'em all."

* * *

Fuller snapped his phone shut, his jawline tense. "No answer from Pearson. I'd say trouble's on its way. They've put two and two together. I've alerted LEOs and set up a search for Pearson."

Tony and Ziva started to move the cars out into a line between the Piper and the gate, as Paula hurried the other two women, and Blossom, towards the mess-room. She thought sourly of her lovely new Pontiac Solstice being used as a bullet stopper, and pushed the idea aside. It wasn't a moment too soon; the way the two vehicles that came through the gate at that moment slewed to an untidy halt was enough to warn anyone that they meant trouble.

Tony and Ziva leapt out of the cars and ran towards the mess; they'd got one vehicle up close to the door, then there was a gap of about twenty feet before the next one. Paula's car was still behind Tony's NCIS saloon; she wondered if he'd done it deliberately, reflected that he wouldn't have had time to plan, and got seriously mad at herself for thinking about it at all. Much more important was the fact that three agents were still over by the radio shack, extracting Starling from the back of the DEA truck. Gibbs, Fuller and McGee were stranded.

The newcomers, stunned to find themselves expected, (_I told ya, should have shot that dog when ya had the chance!")_ had found cover behind two cars which Gibbs guessed belonged to Margaret and Isabella; and let off a flurry of shots with no particular aim. Gibbs yelled, "NCIS! You're not getting the stuff, so give up now." There was another fusillade, and that was the only answer. Gibbs reached for his phone.

"Just in case you're thinkin' about it, DiNozzo, don't. Try to come across here, I mean." He pointed to the garage area behind him, where a snowplough and a firetruck were under cover in an open fronted shed. "We've got good cover here. No heroics."

"No heroics," his SFA's voice hissed back. "You do know that when they realise you've got Starling you're going to be the first targets. _You _need to get back _here_, Boss."

"Workin' on it." He disconnected and Tony suppressed a growl. The attackers did seem to be concentrating their fire on the radio shack rather than the mess; Tony thought it was probably because the cars were the easier target. It was time to do something about that. None of the agents had returned fire yet, content to let the opposition waste their ammo. Now Tony stood, leaning over the top of the car, and Ziva lay on the ground to fire underneath. He felt her grab his ankle, to move his leg into better cover behind the rear wheel, and grunted his thanks. He was about to start shooting, when a single shot came from the opposition.

Ah… shit. Tony froze momentarily, horrified and incredulous. The big German Shepherd, over by the radio shack, had yelped and fallen. Tony couldn't believe it. His namesake was no threat to anyone; it was a mean shot, a spiteful, cruel and unnecessary shot, and, as it turned out, it was a very stupid thing to do. Kent Fuller, drug scourge, family man and all round nice guy, looked down at the body of his old friend, and swore a streak of obscenities that would have made Gibbs blush if he hadn't been thinking something along the same lines. He stood up, and took two of the drugs ring out with deadly accurate head shots, absolutely certain that the shot came from one of them, before a third one unfroze enough to fire back.

Fuller collapsed behind his truck, grasping his shoulder, swearing and weeping at the same time. Tony and Ziva fired from their position, and took the attention from the wounded man and his companions.

"Feds!" a voice yelled. "We only want the coke. Just give us that and we'll go."

"What's the matter," Tony yelled back derisively, getting in before Gibbs. He didn't want the Boss sticking his head up like Kent had done. And he knew that Gibbs was quite capable of it. "You getting cold feet? You found out that Feds have teeth?" He fired a couple of shots in the direction of the voice, then ducked. Through the car window, he risked a quick look round.

Gibbs and McGee were working on Fuller, and guarding their prisoner, who was huddled down and not putting up any resistance. Of more immediate interest right now, was the semi-automatic rifle that one of the dead dealers had let fall. It was out of reach of the others, and seemed to have been forgotten, at least for the moment.

"Ziva?"

"Yes, Tony?"

"You see that rifle?"

"I see it. Do you want it?"

"You don't know how long I've been waiting to hear you say that, Ziva. Yes, I want it."

Ziva gave him a lazy smile that said she was storing that bit of information away for future reference, eased back on her belly, past Paula who was kneeling behind the door, and into the mess-room. The other female agent moved forward to take her place. There was a door at the back, that the women had pushed the coffee machine against.

"Does that lead outside?" she asked Margaret.

"Yes. There's a stack of old aircraft tyres that we use to hold tarps down in the winter. It'll give you some cover. What are you doing?" She was already pushing the machine out of the way again. 

"Do not worry about me," Ziva reassured her. "They will not even notice I am there." She handed the manager her Glock back-up. "Watch the door until I get back." It only seemed like moments later that Tony found himself grinning like a loon at the sight of the slender arm that snaked out from under the dark van. He threw a few shots to keep the opposition's attention on him, and the gun was silently appropriated.

Tony speed-dialled Gibbs, who'd watched Ziva disappear into the mess, although he'd not been able to see what happened next. "Boss? I'm worried about one of those cars going up with a bang. Can Kent move? Good. Get ready to go. Gonna give you some good covering fire in a minute."

"How ya gonna do that, DiNozzo?"

The SFA just coughed, and Gibbs looked across at him. Ziva emerged from the mess, looking pleased with herself, and handed Tony a semi-automatic, which He shook at Gibbs with a grin. "Thank Ziva."

Gibbs grunted. "You're enjoying this too much, DiNozzo."

"Yes, Boss, sorry Boss, shutting up now…" He was, as he'd expected, talking to the dial tone. He felt a little mean about not letting Ziva have the pleasure, but although he trusted their wild new ninja, he wasn't going to give her the chance to go Mossad on him, charge off with the gun, and maybe get herself killed by underestimating the opposition. Maybe when they'd worked together for more time – if they survived that long…

Gibbs gave McGee the wounded man's gun, and hefted Fuller's arm round his shoulder. The DEA chief swayed, and looked sadly at his dog, and Gibbs said steadily, "I'll come back and take care of him." Fuller nodded, eyes glassy and still filled with tears.

Gibbs uncuffed Starling. "It goes like this," he deadpanned. "You can't run fast with your hands cuffed behind you, so I'm giving you a chance. You run straight across to that mess room. It's my guess that your friends will try to shoot you. If you try to get away, McGee won't try, he'll succeed." He looked across at Tony, who held three fingers up. Two. One. Go.

Tony stood tall to send a long burst of automatic fire towards the criminals, and was rewarded with a yell of pain. Starling doubled up and ran, Tim close behind him, firing both guns at once. He dropped behind the end of the car, and added his covering fire as Gibbs and Fuller made it across the twenty feet to safety. He looked back into the mess room, expecting to see Paula dealing with Starling… he was flat on his back, clutching his eye, and Isabella was pointing a Glock at him.

The body language of the others in the room didn't suggest that he was in danger; but his wife had certainly relieved her feelings. Tim allowed himself a small, satisfied smile as he rejoined his team in the doorway, while the ladies turned to helping Fuller.

There was a lot of blood on Gibbs' jacket, and Tim glanced back into the room. "He needs help soon as possible," he said softly, and barely finished before there was another round of gunfire from the baddies.

Gibbs nodded, and didn't even look as if he were going to say, "Ya think?" He looked across at the body of the old dog, who'd deserved a long, honourable and loved retirement, and glanced back into the room. The man lying there bleeding loved his wife and kids, he didn't doubt, but he still cared enough for his old partner to risk a bullet to avenge him.

He looked at Tony, who was staring down at the gun with a thoughtful expression. As he took the full spare clip from its pouch on the strap, and put it into the gun, he became aware of the Boss's attention on him. Their eyes met, and Gibbs simply said, "This has gone on long enough." Tony nodded. As Tim's eyes widened, and he looked at them for clarification, Gibbs raised his voice.

"OK," he yelled. "We got a wounded man here, needs a medic. Take your stash and get the hell out of here." He looked at Tony. "Let's hope they're gullible." There was a long silence.

"Or desperate," his SFA replied quietly.

Finally… "OK. We're going to go behind the radio shack for cover, and we're keeping our guns." (_"They're all in one place. Make like we're going to the plane, take note of exactly where they all are, then we start shooting. Before they can.)_

"Just do it already." This time he looked at the whole team. "They've decided they can take us, head on," he said, and his tone was unafraid, and a bit… anticipatory? Tim wondered if he'd ever thought that about Gibbs before.

Tony ducked his head in the door for a moment. "Kent… can you move? You might want to watch this." The DEA man was a sight… what was left of his shirt was red, in contrast with his face, which was white. They'd used the only thing they had available for bandage, a roll of disposable hand towel from the dispenser, and his chest and shoulder were wrapped in coarse white paper that matched his face. "I look like someone's lunch," he'd growled when they'd first done it. He read the look in Tony's eyes, and with a lot of help from Margaret and Isabella, he made it to the door.

"Here they come," Tim said, raising his gun. Tony handed the semi to Ziva. "Have fun…" he said. He figured she'd earned it. She followed his eyes, and understood. As the five men approached the aircraft, she raised the gun, set it on automatic, and fired – at the plane, in the area beneath the Av-Gas cap. The devil plane, and its cargo of death, exploded in the most impressive, fiendish fireball, blowing all five men up in the air, to crash to the ground. The watchers all staggered slightly at the blast wave.

Kent Fuller looked at the column of red and yellow fire, and the roiling plume of brown smoke. "Holy shit," he whispered, and passed out, happy.

* * *

There were good and bad things in the aftermath. Margaret thought of fetching the fire truck, but said to Gibbs that maybe it was better to just let it burn. The five drug smugglers survived to be taken into custody. Both Gibbs and Kent Fuller had photographed the stash, and Tony had also witnesses it, so there was proof that a huge drug haul had indeed been destroyed.

Ken Starling was devastated by the loss of his brand new aircraft, although he didn't find a lot of sympathy. Later, he'd give enough detail to bring down people in DC, Florida, the West Indies, South America… In the end he got witness protection, which tore Isabella up, since, offered the chance to join him, she refused, because it would have meant not making contact with Inez. Tim confided to Tony that he'd rather the guy had gone to jail. Tony had agreed.

When she did, Tim went to Philadelphia with her, simply to support her on the journey. He wasn't there when the two women met, but afterwards Izzy seemed hopeful. She'd been completely honest with her daughter, who'd appreciated it, and both felt there was the basis for a relationship there.

Paula found there wasn't a scratch on her car, and felt guilty.

DEA Agent Pearson was found alive, but his head injuries were severe. After having his van forced off the road, he had been pistol-whipped for information he didn't actually have, as he'd left the airfield before any of the important facts had emerged. He was unlikely ever to be able to return to active duty. Tony sighed when he heard that news… just because the man was a dead loss where women were concerned, he didn't deserve that.

Gibbs had put Tony the dog's body into the back of Fuller's truck, and taken him back to the task force headquarters, where he was told that the old warrior would be treated with honour, and to tell Kent so. Gibbs had said sure, but to tell him themselves as well, as he'd been carried to the ambulance muttering that his wife was going to kill him. Might need a bit of moral support, Gibbs had told them.

Tony had gone to see him, and told him that he'd taken Blossom himself. She'd had a traumatic time, and he was going to fuss her until Fuller wanted her back. When he was on a case, Abby would fuss her, and there was no-one on this earth better than Abby at fuss….

The movie was coming to an end, the pizza was gone, the wine consumed, Tony's flat was warm, and the sofa comfortable. Kissing Paula was fun, even though he knew that any number of nights of hot sex was never going to make her change her views on commitment. Serves you right, DiNozzo.

Nevertheless, he drew her close, wrapped his arms round her, and kissed her long and con fuoco. His fingers tangled in her hair, and he felt hers scamper across his chest, and begin to work on his shirt buttons. Oh, yeah… he loved it when Paula undressed him… Running his hand slowly down her hip, he moved to kiss her again. She pulled back. What…?

"Tony…" uneasily.

He looked at her in surprise; she gestured down with a glance. Blossom was sitting on the rug at their feet, watching them, her head on one side.

"Oh, Bloss. Go lie down, girl."

Blossom trotted back to her favourite spot by the fire, and Tony and Paula went back to their favourite pastime. She'd pulled his shirt out of his pants, and was making twisty little circles in his chest hair, and he had his hands up the back of her top, counting the notches on her lovely sinuous spine as she breathed in his ear. Something nudged his leg. It must have happened to Paula too, since they both stopped at the same time.

The innocent chocolaty brown eyes were watching them solemnly. The only difference this time was that Blossom had tilted her head to the other side.

"Tony… I absolutely can't make out with an audience."

The Italian rolled his eyes and sighed. "No… neither can I."

He got up, and went into the kitchen, where Paula could hear him moving about. A few minutes later he came back with two mugs of cocoa. He hunted around in his movie collection for a moment, said, "A-ha!" triumphantly, and changed the disc in the DVD, all the time watched with amusement by Paula, and curiosity by Blossom.

Finally, he settled down on the couch, drew Paula's back into his chest, and reached down one-handed to lift Blossom up to join them.

"Comfy?"

"Sure..."

He pressed the remote, and the three of them settled down to watch 'Lady and the Tramp'.

The End

**AN: I want to keep Blossom myself. Thanks for coming along!**


End file.
